Among Vipers
by Vidua
Summary: As the Sack of Kings Landing rages around them, Elia Martell reflects on her life and her new situation. ONESHOT, MIGHT CONTINUE


I was born a month early, on a night so hot the full moon seemed to sweat in the sky. I was held by my mother and placed in the pretty nursery at Sunspear, with its large windows and silk curtains. Nobody expected me to live past that first night, but I did, and I kept living, with my parents expecting me to die. Every night they kissed my tiny rosebud lips, wondering if it were for the last time. My older brother, Doran, would let me wrap a tiny hand around one of his fingers as he cooed at me, hanging eagerly over my cradle even as he was warned not to grow too attached.

" _If she does not die in the first month,"_ the Maesters told my father, _"It will be in the first year."_

But a month came and went, and then a year. Still, I lived on. My tiny heart kept beating, and I saw the birth of my younger brother, Oberyn, a year and a half later. When I was two, my mother finally allowed herself to hope.

How she would be devastated if she knew what was happening to me, now! How she would mourn to know that her only living daughter beat the odds and survived infancy only to be murdered by rough brutes in a strange city far away from home.

"It's all right," murmurs the nurse, Jeyne, to my daughter, who is listening to the shouting outside the walls of the Keep, "They won't hurt us. We're safe, in the Red Keep."

"Grandpa will keep us safe." Rhaenys nods solemnly, tickling her kitten's soft belly, "You and me and Mama and Aegon. Where is Papa? When is he coming back?"

 _Never._ But I don't tell her that. I don't tell her that her father is dead and burned, his ashes in the possession of the enemy. I don't tell her that her grandfather has run mad. I let her believe that she is safe, that we are all safe, and that her father is coming for her if she can only survive the night, as I did when I was a babe. It is both a mercy and a betrayal that instead I say:

"Soon, darling. Papa is away, fighting the bad men. He will be home soon."

"And everything will be back to normal?"

"Yes."

I know it is not true, however much I may wish we shall live past this day. I have felt it all morning. Can one's own death be sensed like a shift in the weather? There is no doubt that there is a strange hush to the air, if you strain your ears and listen closely, ignoring the noise outside. The Red Keep, my home-turned-prison, seems to be holding it's breath. When I was a young girl, I imagined loss to be like a pebble flung into a pond, sending dark waves into every distant corner. Maybe today, some of those waves are reaching me.

The babe at my breast makes a snuffling noise and I look down at him, one finger stroking his cheek gently. He looks like him, I muse, he looks very much like my own son. But he is not. His hair is slightly darker, pale yellow instead of silver, his skin more pink than Dornish olive and his eyes are not the familiar indigo of Rhaegar's, but a deep blue. All are things very few besides me would notice. Aegon, wherever he is, is the very image of his father, unlike Rhaenys, who favours me. Aside from her hair. She has hair like any Targaryen, silvery-white. Rhaegar would know, I thought, if he were here. He had loved our little prince so very much and he would know that this baby was a butchers boy, and that our son was taken away to safety. He would know that I have protected him, though I could not protect Rhaenys.

My sweet girl. She has to be brave. I know I am to die, but she doesn't have to. Rhaenys might live. I hope she will live. If the Keep burns to the ground and all of us are killed, as long as she rises from the ashes, I will be content. The shouts are louder now, floating through the closed windows, worming their way into our tower. They have broken the gates.

"Rhaenys." I say.

"Mama?" She looks up at me, her black eyes wide, contrasting with her snowy hair.

"Hide. Can you think of a good place?"

"Under Papa's bed! Is Papa coming? Are we playing a game?"

"Yes," I lie as my heart breaks, "Yes, Papa is coming. Hide, sweeting, he shall have such fun finding you when he gets here." _Please, please, don't let them find her._

I place the baby who is not mine in Aegon's cradle and catch Rhaenys and she begins to run from the room, her kitten at her heels. I wrap her in my embrace, stroking her silver-blond hair and breathing in her scent. She smells like the lilies in the Watergardens, she has been into my perfume again. I hold her close to me as possible, hoping she can feel love radiating from me. Does she know that she is the most precious thing in this Keep? Does she know how much her father and I adore her, how much we have experienced parenting her these past three years? All of the joy and the tears and the fear and the pride? I hope so. I hope she never forgets. I place her on her feet, and she hikes her dress up, hurrying up the stone stairs. The last I ever see of her is a swish of pale hair, and the edges of her blue dress.

 _She's so small. So, so small. Too young to die. Mother above, have mercy. Please._

There are men in the hall now. I pick up the Butchers Baby and clutch him to me. It is not fair he should die like this, he is an innocent. I shall protect him, if I can.

I ready myself, drawing myself up to my full height, which admittedly isn't much. I barely reach Rhaegar's shoulders, he had once told me I was like a little doll. I wish he were here. He would know what to do.

"It was a pleasure to serve you and the Prince and Princess, My Lady." Jeyne whispers. Her face is white.

"I was lucky to have you, Jeyne." I answer.

She screams as the doors burst open.

/*\\\\\

 **Okay, so I wrote this earlier, and It's meant to be a oneshot, but now I'm having hardcore Elia feels, so I might continue it, like this could be a prologue of some kind? Let me know what you think? Depending on what you guys think, I'll continue, so make sure to follow this if you like it!**


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